I keep my gaze off of Lark. Can’t look at her.
“This is sad,” she says. “I haven’t been this hurt since Janet’s wardrobe malfunction. You should be leaking eye water.”
Eye water. That makes me smile despite my mood. Lark finally gave in to the charms of a dude. Donovan. Jamaican boy. Cute as all get-out. Smart and introspective. Just the kind of boy I always hoped for my homegirl. Life is good for her. It was for me, too.
Was.
“I see Donovan has you using his words,” I manage.
“Say what?”
“Eye water.”
Lark smiles, winds her hips seductively. “Pretty soon I’ll be saying ‘mash it up’ if horny Donovan has his way.”
That jars loose a thought. “I told Donnell he could have the goodies, but then I was breaking up with him.”
“Say what?”
I look at her finally. “I was gonna give him my most precious gift…and then break up with him.”
Lark waves her hand, shakes her head. “No Child Left Behind left me behind, Ken. I’m a little slow sometimes. I don’t understand. Come again?”
Lark is actually very intelligent. Got skipped ahead two grades.
I clear my throat. “I love him, Lark. No doubt about it. But let’s be realistic. I’m going away. He’s staying here. Too much can happen. I learned that with Ricky.”
“Donnell ain’t Ricky.”
“True dat.”
“You need to bury that dead dog in a pet cemetery.”
“Done deal. Trust me. I couldn’t have moved on with Donnell if I hadn’t. However, all good things eventually come to an end. But I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life wondering what if. So I was going to make love to Donnell before I left.”
“And then break up with him?”
The judgment in her voice makes me hesitate. “Well…yeah.”
“That’s some romantic shit.”
I nod.
“My homegirl Merriam-Webster has a definition of romantic that you may not be familiar with, Ken.” She pauses dramatically. “‘Impractical in conception or plan.’ Romantic.”
I let that sink in. Then I drop my head. “I’m a natural-born fool, aren’t I?”
“A little ignent sometimes, yeah.”
“You’re not helping.”
“Keeping it one hundred with you, Ken.”
“Donnell is wonderful in every way that matters.”
“He is.”
“Romantic.” I sniff out a laugh. “In the more recognized sense of the word.”
“My homegirl Merriam-Webster will allow you that.”
“Attentive. Caring. Understanding. Respectful.”
“You get no argument from me.”
“I can’t believe myself.”
“How did he take it?”
“Badly,” I admit.
He tried to reason with me. Couldn’t. Drove me home in silence. Not a word when he dropped me at the curb. I stood in the street and watched him go. It was déjà vu for me. Same way it ended with Ricky. Kicked to the curb.
“He was inconsolable?” Lark asks.
I nod. “You could say that.”
“Well, I’d hurry up and have another talk with him, Ken. If you’re really having second thoughts.”
“I wouldn’t even know what to say at this point.”
“Say something. Anything. Just talk to the boy. And do it fast. Have a sense of urgency.”
“Why the rush?”
“You said he was inconsolable?”
“Yeah. Close enough.”
“Chante also told me Melyssa Bryan was asking her questions about Donnell.”
“That ho.”
Lark nods. “Yeah, Ken. That ho might very well be looking to console Donnell.”
I shake my head. “He wouldn’t.”
“Got yet another definition of romantic for you,” Lark says.
“I’m listening.”
“‘Having no basis in fact.’”
“He wouldn’t,” I repeat.
Lark hammers her point home, too. “Romantic thought, Ken. Very romantic thought.”
Chapter 2
Eric
She looked like one of the girls in the Pussycat Dolls. Exotic and beautiful. It was hard for me to get my thoughts together. My brain didn’t want to send the directive to my legs to move. Nicole Scherzinger, I kept thinking. Lead girl in the Dolls. Could it be?
I’d walked here. It took me about twenty minutes. Enough time to think about what I’d say to her. How I’d act. She pulled up, about five minutes after I’d arrived, in a silver Pontiac Grand Prix. That surprised me. I expected a black Range Rover. They say there are six million ways to die. I found one, then. Heartbreak. It was all over her face. The stride of her walk as she moved toward me. The way she shielded her eyes with sunglasses. The car she chose to drive.
“No Range?” I asked.
Mya shook her head and sneered. “It was nothing that I really needed, a material item. I gave it back to its owner.”
Fiasco, her brother. He had a fleet of Land and Range Rovers.
“Gave it back, huh? And dropped down to this?” I pointed at the Grand Prix.
“Could’ve been worse,” Mya said.
I frowned. “From a Range to a Grand Prix. How could it be worse?”
“Could’ve dropped to a Grand Am.”
I eyed her. Nodded. She did have a point.
“I’m not calculus, so stop studying me so hard,” Mya said after a moment.
Everything was calculated. I decided to remain focused on her lifestyle change.
“Sorry. Just wondering how I’m going to lay back and stretch my legs in this Grand Prix when I grow up to be tall, dark and handsome.”
I was sixteen. Five-foot-eight.
Praying for a growth spurt.
Mya smiled for the first time. “You’re a fool, baby boy.”
“A fool in love.” I embraced her. “Hi.”
She pulled out of the embrace. “High is right. Standing there looking at me like that, looking like you smoked something today.”
It was familiar and like old times between us. Like the first time we’d met.
We were at the Americana Diner. Prepared for a cozy lunch for two.
Mya reached in her purse. It was made of soft leather, felt like warm butter, and very expensive. I didn’t know the label, but knew it was designer. So she hadn’t given up everything, wasn’t living like a nun in a nunnery. Mya’s fingers came out of the purse with a green rectangular pack with white trim. Cigarettes. Newport. I hunched my eyes in surprise. “Since when do you smoke?”
She didn’t answer, but greedily opened the pack, pulled out one cig, lit it with the flick of a Zippo lighter. She enjoyed two quick puffs with her eyes closed. Some color came back to her café-au-lait complexion.
Medicating herself with poison.
She opened her eyes, tossed a hesitant smile my way. “Sorry. I’ve needed that for the past hour. Couldn’t wait to stop for one.”
I wouldn’t judge.
“Hour. Why didn’t you just smoke in the car?”
She frowned. “Not having my car smell like smoke. Uh-uh.” She pinched her cig, took another pull on the cancer stick. “This is just a temporary situation,” she said, squinting. “My smoking…a diversion.”
“What are you diverting, Mya?”
I didn’t expect an answer.
And didn’t get one.
“Let’s go on in, baby boy. I’m hungry enough to eat a horse.”
“Betta finish all your food, too.” I nodded at the Grand Prix. “Not enough room in your new whip for a doggy bag.”
She pushed me by the shoulder. A beautiful woman, love-tapping me.
Confidence. Swagger.
I had it.
I wrapped my arm around her waist, walked like that to the door of the diner. Brushed up against her as I moved to open the door. Mya shied away from me. Something danced in her eyes. “Yo
u betta thank puberty for saving you, baby boy. I can’t even get mad. You’re a trip. Copping feels.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mya.”
She nodded. We went inside. Got seated immediately.
The waitress came just as quickly, took our orders. A burger with the biggest pickle wedge and creamiest coleslaw in New Jersey, plus a side order of shoestring French fries, for me. Chicken Caesar salad for Mya. Fruit punch and Diet Coke were our respective drinks.
“So what’s good?” Mya asked.
“Everything.”
“Junior year coming up?”
“Yup.”
“Been shopping? You know you gotta be fly.”
“Yeah.” I smiled, looked her directly in the eyes. “Fiasco got me a hookup with Kenneth Cole. You know he did their recent ad campaign? It ran in Vibe, Essence, I think. Jet.”
Mya slipped that jab, moved on to something else entirely. “You’ll be driving soon, right?”
“Soon enough. Maybe Fiasco will give me the black Range Rover you gave back. What do you think?”
Our drinks arrived before Mya could reply. Didn’t matter. She wouldn’t’ve anyway. Fiasco wasn’t someone she wanted to talk about. She blamed him for having that monster Alonzo around. Blamed Fiasco for what almost happened to my sister. I shuddered to think of how it would have ended for Kenya if Mya, Fiasco and I hadn’t stormed in to save her from that predator. The three of us beat Alonzo’s ass and then Fiasco calmly called the police. But he didn’t have Alonzo arrested. Fiasco had a couple buddies on the force that did off-duty security for him from time to time. He called in a favor. He asked his buddies to escort Alonzo out of state, with a threat of worse if he ever returned. Get him out of Dirty Jersey. Fiasco felt that was the best course of action. Felt as if Alonzo would be hell-bent on revenge if he had to pull some time for what he almost did to Kenya, for what he’d already done to countless other young girls. Fiasco didn’t want to have to look over his shoulder once Alonzo was released. And it would happen. That predator would get out. And it wouldn’t be long. You didn’t get a stretch for attempted rape. Sad, but true. I understood Fiasco’s logic in letting Alonzo go. Kenya understood, too. She just wanted the ordeal behind her.
Mya was the lone holdout.
She’d wanted Alonzo in prison.
For what he’d attempted to do to Kenya.
For what he’d done to Mya when she was close to Kenya’s age.
Alonzo, psycho that he was, wouldn’t last long before he got himself in some trouble he couldn’t get out of. He’d only managed to keep out of trouble before because he was under Fiasco’s close watch, working for his security detail. But things changed when Fiasco jettisoned him. Alonzo wasn’t out of state but a minute before the law came down on him for some stupidity he got involved in with a bank and gun, I was told. He was his own worst enemy. Last I’d heard he was looking at ten to fifteen years, was sitting in a cell in Kentucky. His ass was bluegrass.
None of that mattered to Mya, though. She was still furious with Fiasco.
“Penny for your thoughts,” Mya said.
I decided to just go ahead and roll the dice. Avoiding the major issue wouldn’t make it go away. “Fiasco misses you. Misses his sister.”
Mya sipped at her Diet Coke. Took some time with that. Then she calmly wiped her mouth with a napkin and spoke to me in a stern voice. “I’m close to losing my appetite, baby boy. If I do lose it, then I’ll just leave without even finishing the meal. And we won’t set up another date to break bread together ever again. And I can’t promise I’ll ever answer my cell phone if your number pops up on caller ID. Understand?”
I did. She didn’t want to be pressed.
“So what’s good with you?” I asked.
She studied me for a moment. Let her anger settle. Took another sip of Diet Coke. “Just finished doing some print ads. Shot a television commercial. It’s all so boring. Mya the model,” she sneered.
“Haven’t done any music videos?”
“Eric…”
I raised my hand to signify peace. “I mean for anyone?”
Mya was the muse in all of her brother’s past videos.
The beautiful woman who changed her looks for each one.
Was. Past tense. I hoped to change that. But I had to be careful how I proceeded.
Mya softened. “I haven’t done any videos,” she said.
Silence settled between us.
Mya eventually broke through the barrier.
“How’s Kenya?” she asked.
“Getting ready to go off to college.”
“Georgia, right?”
“Yeah.”
“She gonna pledge? She gonna be a soror?”
“Couldn’t tell you.”
I had an idea. I wasn’t sure it would work. But it was worth a try.
“She driving down?” Mya asked.
“Think so,” I said. “I don’t really know.”
“You’re pretty apathetic.”
It was gonna work, I realized then.
I shrugged my shoulders. Part of my role.
“You’re gonna miss her,” Mya said.
I shrugged a second time.
“You’ll miss her.”
“I guess.” I paused. “She’s just my sister. No big deal. Siblings are replaceable. I’ll just get a PlayStation 3 or something. And I’ll be fine. Right?”
She slid off her sunglasses, folded them and carefully placed them in her pocketbook. Every move was graceful. She swept her head to the side, looked at me. Mya had beautiful eyes. Thick lashes that accentuated their beauty. I’d never seen her lively eyes turn cold.
Until then.
I held her gaze. My eyes weren’t cold. They were friendly. I only wanted the best for her. For Fiasco. They were my friends. I loved them both. Equally.
She took a sip of her Diet Coke then set the glass down quietly. She looked at the glass for answers. Did that for a few seconds. I imagined at that moment she wished the Diet Coke was Grey Goose. I’d never seen her drink. And didn’t know if she did. But then again, I’d never seen her smoke before, either. She was a troubled woman, with a hardened heart. Who knew how many devils she now worshipped?
“You spoke to him last, when?” Mya asked in a whisper
That surprised me. The frailty in her voice. That she was finally speaking about her brother.
“Yesterday,” I said.
“He’s where?”
“He told me he was headed to Charlotte.”
She looked away. “He’s doing okay?”
“Complained about them not showing enough love to a Jersey dude down in that part of the country. But other than that…said everything was cool. He sounded tired.”
“Touring is taxing.”
“I can imagine.”
“All that travel will break you down. Wonder if he’s…” Her voice trailed off.
“Taking his vitamins? Yeah, he is.”
Mya looked at me, studied me, but kept quiet.
“He mentioned you always being on him to take his vitamins. Keep his strength up. Then he mentioned how much he missed you.” I hesitated. “I hung up with him and texted you. Hoping you’d wanna hang out.”
“Manipulative little bugger, aren’t you?”
“It’s all love. Trust me.”
“Love.”
That’s all she said.
A chime rang out with each group of new patrons. It did, then. I looked up. Four girls entered. My age, huddled together like cheerleaders on a football sideline. I didn’t pay them any real attention. Too concerned about Mya and Fiasco.
The girls were seated in a booth two over from us. Their chatter was the only sound in that area of the diner. Mya and I weren’t talking.
One of the girls from the group got up almost as soon as they were seated. I glanced her way. She had a nice body. Couldn’t see her face because she quickly had her back to me, was headed to the restroom. Puberty dictated that I had
to get a look at her face when she returned. Like Mya had said, puberty was doing funny things to me, had a mind of its own.
Two of the waitstaff came from the back, ended by our table. “Burger?” asked one.
“That’s me,” I said.
The other placed the chicken Caesar salad in front of Mya.
“Can we get you anything else?”
“We’re fine,” Mya said. “Thanks.”
I started in on my burger right away. Mya bowed her head and silently said a prayer. That spurred me. I stopped eating and did the same. Mama would’ve been disappointed in me. We never ate a meal at home without giving God the proper thanks beforehand. I was slipping. That had to change. So much good had happened to me over the last year. I needed to remember how it used to be, and be thankful for how much my life had improved.
I said my quick prayer. “So much to be thankful for.”
“Without question,” Mya agreed.
“What are you thankful for, Mya?”
She looked at me. “That God has blessed me with a reasonable portion of health and strength.”
“That’s good. Anything else?”
“He granted me this new day. And not because I’ve been so faithful. But because He’s so merciful.”
“And forgiving. God is forgiving. We should be, too.”
That made Mya frown.
Drop her gaze.
Study her hands.
Think.
Wasn’t long before she looked up. “I guess I figured you’d want to talk about Fiasco. That you’d beat me over the head about my brother.”
I nodded.
She continued. “And I came anyway. That says something, I believe. I might as well stop frontin’. I do miss my brother.”
“Manipulative little bugger, aren’t you?”
Mya smiled. “We love one another. My brother and I. In due time all wounds are healed, baby boy. Give us some time. You can rest. You don’t have to play Mr. Fix-it anymore.”
“Wanna see you guys right. Love y’all.”
Mya nodded. “Ditto.” Pause. “So do you…?”
Mya’s voice became a whisper in my ear as I glanced up. The girl from two booths over was returning from the bathroom. Had to peep her face. I stopped chewing burger. My heart started to beat at a different rhythm and immediately sweat sprouted on me.
Everywhere.
Dirty South Page 3